Across the Spectrum
by Blazichu
Summary: Don't know what you feel like reading about? Here's a little bit of everything in a series of short, randomly chosen prompts. Settings range from the original game to post-All 4 One.  Completely R/C friendship-centric.
1. Chapter 1

Anyone remember when I said that I loved _All 4 One_'s art style? Yeah, as it turns out, I love the rest of it too. Shocking, that. So, after a few days of helping to pimp out the TVtropes article, I got off my fangirlish butt in one sense and sat down to do some actual writing. This is mostly just a writing exercise that I'm testing out— both in terms of style and ideas. It's not a 100 themes challenge or anything; I'm just using words from a random word generator. So yeah... these aren't the best ever, but they were fun to write.

I feel compelled to mention that, originally, I was going to put 10 prompts per chapter— and here we are, chapter 1, and I'm already breaking my own rules. I blame 'Coincidence'— it _just wouldn't end_. On a side note, I've had a new installment for Six Minutes rattling around in my head for eons and I think I've figured out how to work with it. (Alright, show of hands— who wants to see Orvus?) It'll probably be the next thing up— in the R&C fandom, anyway.

So...warnings... a few spoilers for A4O, but nothing too terrible as of yet. The _Future_ trilogy is mentioned, but I don't think I included anything that would spoil ACiT past Krell Canyon, and ToD is safe. Oh, and there's fluff. Believe me, no shortage of fluff.

(Am I the only one who finds it hilarious that nothing has been updated since the 18th? It's like we all took a hiatus to play _All 4 One_ when it came out, before returning to our fannish ways...)

* * *

><p><strong>Anniversary<strong>

Traditionally, a tenth anniversary gift is supposed to be tin.

Ratchet isn't particularly concerned about sticking to the tradition but, since Clank would like to try doing something the 'normal' way, they make an honest effort at finding something that fits the bill. They wind up coming home with a clock. And, as much fun as it was finding the "EXACT CENTER OF THE GARAGE" so the clock could be placed fifty centicubits away from it, Clank still seems rather irked by the fact that the 'mission' didn't go as planned.

Before the evening's over, Ratchet scoops him up and hugs him, grinning widely, "Thanks for putting up with me for ten years, tin can."

* * *

><p><strong>Fishing<strong>

When they'd been exploring Octonok Bay, batting Slorgs around and dodging Sepiad tentacles, neither Ratchet or Clank had really been serious about the 'I think I like fishing' thing. Unfortunately, that didn't matter to the Anglerprey that had just swallowed the Omniwrench. Yes, they could go on without it, but it wasn't like they were in a hurry and, as Ratchet had helpfully pointed out, "That was a good wrench, too!"

So they ended up taking the time to match wits with fish after fish after fish. That probably wasn't the best way to phrase it, but it felt like the fish were mocking them and Clank took it as a personal affront after the third one got away. By the time they found the wrench-thief, they'd amassed a large pile of very ugly, very _dead_ Anglerpreys.

Yes, Clank had to take extra precautions against rust after that, the Omniwrench _still_ smelled like fish and Aphelion had refused to admit them until they cleaned up... but it actually _had_ been fun. And the memory of Ratchet absolutely covered in mud, cussing out a fish was definitely worth a slightly high oil bill and the several cans of air freshener that had been used on the Omniwrench. Today alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Milk<strong>

If one were to ask, most would tell you that Clank was a very pleasant robot. Those were the people who had never gotten him mad. It was crazy, really, how such a tiny robot could be so... scary, and, if she hadn't been there, Talwyn wouldn't have believed how effectively he could make a room go silent.

"I do not care why it happened, but should I _ever_ discover who is responsible for this," He gestured loosely in the direction that his partner in crime had fled off to, "I will make the War Grok look tame in comparison."

With one last, accusatory, glance toward Qwark, the little 'bot stalked away, taking the tense atmosphere with him. One by one, the room's occupants started talking again, completely baffled as to what had just happened.

It was only Sasha's sheepish confession that cleared it up, "I... didn't believe it when Ratchet said that he was lactose intolerant..."

* * *

><p><strong>Interpreting<strong>

"Pal... if the words 'Lombax Whisperer' escape you in any way, shape or form, I will _not_ be held accountable for my actions."

"That is alright, Ratchet. We can simply ask Dr. Croid to interpret them for us."

* * *

><p><strong>Nerd<strong>

Clank had never really considered 'nerd' to be an insult. Next to 'pal' it was Ratchet's favorite sort-of-term-of-endearment for him and, while it had never quite been in jest, it had always been in good humor. Even Qwark's usage was understandable, given the Captain-slash-President's rather childish tendencies.

What he simply _couldn't_ understand was why these men had thought it a good idea to start harassing him about being a nerd. They had to recognize him from holovision— either _Secret Agent Clank_ or the news, if their ramblings were anything to judge by... But the robot didn't comprehend why they would do such a thing, what they stood to gain from it— because really, it was a bad idea through and through.

Sure, picking on a 'nerd' may have sounded appealing to them at some point... but logic should have told them not to mess with the nerd who honestly _did_ have posimorphic blaster cannons in each fingertip. And, even if that didn't work out, _self-preservation_ should have told them not to mess with the nerd whose best friend had a hair trigger temper and access to several thousand weapons of mass destruction.

All things considered, Clank was perfectly happy being a nerd.

* * *

><p><strong>Last<strong>

Clank never had the metaphorical heart to mention it, but he had known for some time that, even if they managed to find the lombaxes, it could never end well.

It had been rather jarring, returning to Solana after the two years he'd spent away; while most major things had stayed the same, culture had evolved and was still evolving. Two years wasn't terribly unsettling, but the lombaxes had been gone for more than two decades. Even with the same 'starting point' their culture would have twisted away from what had once been the norm. But beyond even that, Ratchet had grown up away from his own kind; he didn't know how to read the language or understand the basic life-cycle. He'd been downright insulted when Aphelion had called him a "kit" several weeks ago, even though, as far as lombaxes went, 24 was still adolescence.

The betrayal at Tachyon's and— though accidentally— Azimuth's hands would have made them cautious, wary of possible turncoats. The robot couldn't say for certain, but he feared that, if they ever _did _find the lost race, they would want nothing to do with outsiders— lombaxan or not.

Even as disconnected from his culture as Ratchet happened to be, Clank would always consider him the last true lombax— that was to say, the last lombax as their universe knew them. Handy with a wrench, braver than he ought to be, and at times, truly brilliant, if not a bit smart mouthed. That was what the public opinion seemed to be... and if that list privately happened to include unfortunate curiosity, questionable inventing skills and scatterbrained tendencies... well, he wasn't telling anybody.

* * *

><p><strong>Commentary<strong>

_"I once said that being a hero a hero is 45 percent strength_—_"_

"Not hard with that thick skull of his."

_"60 percent bravery_—_"_

"But only when it doesn't pose any threat to your oh-so-heroic self, right Captain?"

_"And 15 percent raw intelligence_—_"_

"Oh yeah, he's brain damaged like a vufox."

_"President Qwark... that's 115 percent..."_

"Thank you." Ratchet said along with the image of Qwark on the holovision set, expression set in a complete deadpan. He shook his head and buried his face in a nearby cushion, "What am I doing with my life?"

Clank watched these goings-on with an air of amusement, "You are mocking Qwark."

Ratchet threw the cushion at him.

* * *

><p><strong>Coincidence<strong>

Evil, it seemed, had lowered its standards.

Why yes, yes that _was_ Dr. Nefarious, hassling the cashier at Galaxy Burger. Why he was there in the first place was a mystery in and of itself— maybe he was buying one of their 'Surprise Burgers' to experiment on or something— but, whatever the case, he and the Cazar behind the register seemed to be having some sort of dispute. And when you're an inter-galactic hero, self-proclaimed or not, dealing with acts super-villainy (however stupid they may be) usually falls to you. Fortunately, it happened to be the latter type of inter-galactic hero this time around.

After all, the Galactic President _certainly_ had more important matters on his hands, right? Ratchet snorted at the thought; he happened to know that Qwark was trying to make that Presidential Retreat-Slash-Waterpark on Magnus a reality. The 'good Captain' had just called about Sepiad control twenty minutes ago.

Inside the fast food joint, Nefarious started waving his arms about.

Clank glanced from the scene back to Ratchet, knowing where this was headed.

"Do we _have_ to do the right thing today?" The lombax complained even as he led their detour, "We don't even know if he's the one causing problems. Maybe they forgot his fries or something."

This was quickly disproven upon entering the building, though.

"Sir—" The Cazar tried to say, but Nefarious wasn't having it. The robot just went on in his rant.

"—but do they listen? _NO!_ I happen to be a foremost—"

"Sir—"

"—expert in evil science! I'll have you know that I don't have just—"

"_Sir_—"

"— an _arch _nemesis, I have arch _nemeses! See?_" At this, Nefarious waved something in the cashier's face. Unsurprisingly, the Cazar withdrew from the aggressive gesture.

"I believe that may be our cue, Ratchet."

"I dunno, pal— I kinda want to hear where this is going."

Nefarious froze and, after a moment's silence, hesitantly looked over his shoulder. Clank waved amicably while Ratchet idly tapped his claws against the Omniwrench.

"Aaaaas I was saying, I have places to be and evil to do. Carry on." The villain slapped several bolts down on the counter and grabbed the bag of not-quite-food before making a tactical retreat.

"That was far simpler than I had assumed it would be." Clank commented, earning a brief nod from his companion.

"Sir!" The Cazar shouted after Nefarious, to no avail. He sighed to himself, picking up the piece of paper that the evil doer had shoved in his face, "You forgot this..."

"What is it?" Ratchet asked, trying to peer at it over the counter.

The cashier's eyes flicked from the paper to the lombax and back several times over, "Maybe... you could return it to him?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, in this photo... you know him, and all that arch nemesis stuff had to be a game... So you're friends, aren't you?"

"No." Ratchet answered.

"I believe so." Clank said at the same time.

There was a beat of silence and neither one of them looked at the other.

"Maybe," The lombax finally said, "It depends on whether or not he still wants to kill Qwark."

"...How so?" The 'bot asked, not without some measure of trepidation.

"Never mind." Ratchet said quickly, trying to cut his losses. To the Cazar he said, "Yeah, we can give it back to him... as long as it isn't, y'know, evil."

The cashier seemed mildly bemused by this but handed the paper over. Ratchet stared at it for a moment and handed it to Clank so the robot could take a look at it too, before tearing off after Nefarious.

It was the photograph from Magnus. Not the original photo, either, since the paper was completely different; it was a copy, cropped down to size by neatly cutting through Qwark's face. The little robot was already sprinting after the others as the implications clicked in his processing unit.

"Nefarious!" Ratchet called, once they'd managed to make up the distance between the two parties.

Amazingly, he paused in his retreat, and the lombax skidded to a halt to avoid speeding past him. Surprised by his friend's sudden stop, Clank ran into _him_; Ratchet chuckled and righted the little robot.

"What do you _want_?" Nefarious half-growled.

"We believe that this belongs to you," The smaller mech answered, offering him the photo.

The villain's expression went suspiciously blank and he snatched it away, "That doesn't mean anything. It's...my hit list."

It was a nice try, but nobody was buying it.

"Yeah, whatever makes you feel better." Ratchet said, looking thoroughly unimpressed. He started to turn away, but paused in the action, "We'll see ya whenever your next plan blows up in your face...so, what— about a week?"

The 'evil' robot grumbled in irritation, but didn't bother lying, "About."

Clank nodded, successfully keeping himself from giggling, "Until next week, then."

It was only after Nefarious was out of earshot that he asked, "Perhaps we should preemptively stop his plans?"

Ratchet waved one hand dismissively, "It's Nefarious, pal, it's not like it's our first time dealing with him. Or the second... or third. Besides, things were getting boring."

And really, there was no arguing with that logic.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't believe that I have anything to blather on about ad nauseum, this time around... but the mental image of Ratchet and Clank trying to play co-op on Portal 2 is hilarious. To me, anyway.

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for the _Future _trilogy, the first game, _Going Commando_ and references to _Deadlocked. _And, predictably enough, fluff.

* * *

><p><strong>Superfluous<strong>

Angela was not stupid.

It had been something else, meeting, opposing and- eventually- befriending Ratchet and Clank; and yes, admittedly, the young lombax had been cute in a stupidly-confident sort of way. If he'd been older, she might have considered pursuing that blatant crush he'd had on her, but she was legally an adult in the Bogon galaxy- 23 years old and fully dedicated to her work- and he'd been a teenager, a kit who was still working out his place in the universe. They had a friendship, but nothing else.

So, eventually, they'd parted ways. He'd gone tearing back to Solana on another adventure and Angela had stayed with her latest commission in Megacorp. They stayed in contact, discussing projects with- and, occasionally, confusing- one another. It had been nice.

When a 21 year old Ratchet had finally contacted her after a worrying lack of communication, half-heartedly apologizing for not calling sooner, she'd been sympathetic... but she couldn't exactly say that she'd been surprised by the way he was reacting to Clank's disappearance. Over the years, his attitude where the little robot was concerned had gone from sarcastic but friendly to good natured and (mostly) trusting. It was obvious how much he was hurting without his best friend, and that nobody else could substitute; it had been a load off of her mind to hear that the situation had been resolved, despite taking several years.

Even if that silly little lombax hadn't figured it out, Angela had; all of those could-be relationships had stopped cold because he'd really rather spend time with his pal, arguing over ion thrusters and pouring over weapon statistics. It wasn't a romantic relationship itself- Angela was fairly certain that she'd pick up on it if it were, since Ratchet wasn't particularly subtle- but it was quite obvious that there were certain barriers that Ratchet would only let Clank cross and vise-versa.

When it boiled down to it, they didn't need anybody else.

* * *

><p><strong>Reconciliation<strong>

It had been hard for Ratchet, reconciling the image of Kaden- the one that Alister had painted, not just the photograph in the pocket watch- with his own wild speculation about his absentee parents. In the lull between Tachyon's defeat and the return to Apogee Station, it had distantly occurred to him that, no, he actually _hadn't_ been abandoned; his father had protected him for as long as he'd been able, but there wasn't that much information to work with beyond being the 'Keeper of the Dimensionator'. If he'd been given time to accept this information- as opposed to determinedly scouring the galaxy for any reference to these oh-so-mysterious zoni, taking pirate names, shooting pirates down and _finding his pal, damn it-_ it would have been easier to change his mind when confronted with information about _who_ Kaden had been, not what title he'd had.

He was still working on it, but every time the topic came up it was a little easier for Ratchet to believe that it had never been a matter of not being wanted, and when some random passerby happened to mention his or her mother or father, he didn't always feel a rush of resentment. Sadness, yes, sometimes even resignation... but it didn't sting the way it used to.

And, now that he wasn't alone, things were certainly looking up.

* * *

><p><strong>Fashion<strong>

"A good idea? This is a _horrible_ idea! It was _Qwark's_ idea!" Ratchet half-screeched, "I don't know if you've noticed, pal, but I'm _orange._"

"Yes, you are." Clank replied, unable to think of anything to soften the blow. He couldn't even say that it suited Ratchet because it _really_ didn't.

The lombax was _violently_ orange- a shade that didn't really match up with anything or anyone- and Clank could understand his friend's distress. It wasn't enough that Qwark had pretty much forced the fur dye on the mechanic, but there was still a- quite frankly- humiliating mission to carry out, which was the reason for the involuntary dye-job in the first place. It was a disguise... and a really bad one at that.

"We have been over this before, Ratchet. This... Thales has a fixation with fur; between the three of us, you are the only one who could use that to your advantage."

The lombax sighed and his ears drooped, "I _know_ that, but..." He trailed off, reaching up to flick a strand of hair from the bright red wig he'd been guilted into out of his face, "But Qwark _does_ realize that there's such thing as a holo-disguise, right?"

"Without a doubt." The robot promptly answered, "Perhaps he is more cunning than we had given him credit for."

"Galactic President-elect or not... I'm gonna kill him."

* * *

><p><strong>Nominal<strong>

Clank was uncertain when, exactly, he'd begun to place a value on names. Oh, he'd always considered them important- how else would you know who was who?- but he didn't know when he'd gone from equating them to labels to assigning personal value to a name.

It was odd, really, as- like the robots in Drek's army- he hadn't even _had_ a name upon creation. Well... he had- XJ0461- but he hadn't known it at the time. Somewhere along the line, as time had passed and he'd gotten to know the people around him, he'd begun to define the name by the person attached to it, not the other way around.

Qwark, while not as heroic as the universe would lead one to believe, was occasionally helpful and, from time to time, managed to get things done. Al was a fellow nerd, easy for him to talk to and usually an interesting presence. Helga... probably meant well in the long run, but happened to be under the same Qwark-related spell as a majority of the universe. Skrunch came close to throwing the theory out the window, but then again, Skrunch was a monkey.

And Ratchet... was Ratchet. There had never been any defining him, and it would likely stay that way.

This was probably what made it difficult for Clank to comprehend that his friend could _possibly_ be anyone different. While the lombax had fixated on the 'purpose' part of Tachyon's desperate ranting, near the Cragmite's end, Clank had puzzled over the 'name' bit. It made sense when he thought about it; Ratchet had mentioned a distaste for being hailed as 'lombax', which probably meant that he'd responded to it at some point in his life... But what had changed? Had he just chosen a name for himself at random and then been done with it?

The robot had to chuckle at the idea; that was pretty much how he'd gotten his own name, come to think of it, and he certainly wouldn't put it past the mechanic to have done the same before. But surely, whatever his friend's real name was, it wouldn't make a difference. There was a not-quite definition behind Ratchet that would still apply, the same way Clank hadn't felt that he'd changed upon hearing his own "real" name. Between their names- or lack thereof- and just being themselves, they fit together. Not perfectly- _definitely_ not perfectly- but that was okay, since things would have gotten boring.

Besides, the lombaxes happened to be the geniuses who'd come up with a dimension-hopping machine in a hat and the name "Percival". It was doubtful that they were missing much.

* * *

><p><strong>Unemployment<strong>

The proper response when Ratchet says "I just realized something" was to run like hell.

Clank wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't just taken the easy way out, but here he stood, patiently waiting for whatever insane revelation was sure to come. Maybe it was because, if he didn't keep an eye out, nobody else would be willing (or able) to stop that lombax from destroying half of Kyzil Plateau with one of his 'bright ideas'... and really, Clank would prefer not to deal with any property damage this week, if at all possible.

So he prepared himself for the epiphany, sure to be rife with ill-advised uses for ion thrusters, warp drives and the like. What he wasn't expecting was a sheepish grin or for Ratchet to run a hand over one of his ears in the nervous tick that he seemed to have picked up over the two years they'd been apart.

"It, uh, just occurred to me that I haven't actually had a job since I was sixteen..."

Amused- and more than a bit relieved- the little robot had to chuckle at his friend's logic. "Not officially, I suppose. Hero work does pay rather well," He paused, optics narrowing teasingly, "But I do not mind being the 'bread winner' so to speak."

There was a beat of silence.

"That was low, pal."

* * *

><p><strong>Warranty<strong>

"Radiation, inter-stellar travel, inter-_dimensional _travel, unforeseen Floranian-cyclo monkey attacks, complete temporal meltdowns, self-detonation... I can't find 'water damage' anywhere in this stupid manual!" Ratchet complained, tapping a clawed finger against the book in question. He sighed and marked his place on the page before turning around, "Any luck in the Hall of Knowledge database, pal?"

Without bothering to interrupt his reading, Clank shook his head. After a moment's silence, he took the time to elaborate, "I am sorry, Ratchet; I cannot find anything about a 'Plasma Sprinkler Glove'. It is as though it does not exist."

The mechanic groaned, but wasn't overly surprised. That was just the kind of luck they had. "Ah well, thanks anyway. There are still a few I haven't really looked at in the manual here, anyway." There were a few moments of silence as he reread the information he'd already covered and then proceeded to read the rest of the list aloud, "Seeker ammo, Drophyd innards- well, I guess those _are_ kind of wet- Lawn Ninjas... Mr. Zurkon gets a whole section in here. Uh, Terachnoid modifications, Light Eating Z'Grutes and Lomba- _hey!_"

* * *

><p><strong>Intelligence<strong>

If there was one thing that Ratchet wasn't, it was unintelligent.

True, one would be left wondering, what with the way he abused common sense and went against the most basic logic; and yes, his formal education left quite a bit to be desired... but anybody who could build a gravometric warp drive out of Blargian scrap-metal was anything but unintelligent. If Clank had to hazard a guess, he would have sided with it being a deep-rooted desire to prove somebody wrong; he had no idea who it might be in response to or where that desire may have stemmed from, but Ratchet could be incredibly stubborn when he wanted to. That was something that he'd learned after the first year of living with the mechanic.

So when they were working on repairing the Great Clock, Clank knew that his friend wasn't avoiding the more important pieces because he couldn't understand what they were for or how they had to be fixed; given some time and a short explanation, it wouldn't be hard for him to work everything out. But, as busy as everybody happened to be, the little robot hadn't been able to pose the question until long after everything had been completed and Aphelion had docked on a nearby planet. And... perhaps he should have seen the answer coming.

"I... didn't feel like it was my place to work on it- Sigmund's the caretaker, I'm just a mechanic. I figured if I just fixed up the smaller components, I'd be able to stay out of your guys' way," There was a hesitation, though, making it obvious that there was something he wasn't saying, "And...uh, don't get mad at me or anything, but I kinda wanted to keep my distance. From the Clock and from-" He cut himself off, eyes fixed on the floor.

Despite this, it was quite clear that the last part of the sentence fragment had been "you".

The robot nodded slowly, beginning to understand. It hadn't been a matter of capability or even of comfort in taking on such a major task; Ratchet's distance had been caused by the promise he'd made, to honor whatever decision Clank made in regards to the Great Clock. It made sense that, at the time, he'd assumed that the robot was going to remain behind; Clank himself hadn't even known what his decision would be until the very last nano-second. It was, when it came down to it, a matter of loyalty.

And when it came down to intelligence and logic, honor and loyalty, Clank knew what was really important.

* * *

><p><strong>Hero<strong>

Cleaning up the garage was never an enjoyable task.

But, given the amount of neglect that it had suffered over the past two years- what with its sole inhabitants traipsing off around the Polaris galaxy for varied reasons- Clank had reasoned that it was time to buckle down and do some work of the non-heroic variety. Ratchet still wasn't entirely convinced. Fortunately, he'd been able to put the actual _garage_ part of the garage off for now; what they called "The Garage" included the living space attached to the working area, and inventions were prohibited in any part of the domicile that didn't have reinforced walls.

The actual work-space was a disaster area; weapons were scattered haphazardly across the floor, poised to go off at an inopportune moment and piles of armor had been shoved to the side, mismatched and quite possibly misplaced. This, as per usual, had been Ratchet's fault- but he really had had a reason this time. How logically did a being think once they'd been whipped into a panic? He'd been in full panic mode in the first days after Tachyon's defeat; home had seemed like a good place to start the search, at any rate, and if he'd managed to knock over some armor or send weapons flying across the room... oops?

But that wasn't really important, right now. What Ratchet was currently tasked with was sorting out the crap in the closet. The lombax couldn't help but feel that something was out of place the first time he'd reopened the closet door, but that was probably to be expected, the way its contents had overbalanced and scattered across the hallway.

From where he'd stood, further up the hall, Clank had given him _the look_ and Ratchet had immediately acquiesced, holding his hands up in surrender and wandering off to find some spare boxes and sort everything out. Now the lombax was sorting through a little over a decade's worth of junk, and had just stumbled across a treasure trove of awkward keepsakes.

He sighed, propping his head up on his hand- which, in turn, was being balanced on his knee- and stared at the action figure he'd run across. It was even older than most of the stuff in the closet, back from when he'd still lived in the city of Kyzil and not on the plateau- he'd been... probably around seven years old, back then, and had loved the toy. There wasn't a lot that had survived the trek from Kyzil, either.

The lombax shook his head, trying to dispel the memory- though it wasn't entirely unpleasant- returned his attention to the tiny replica of Ace Hardlight. This was a lost cause, though, and he wasn't entirely surprised to find his attention wandering off, again.

Ace Hardlight had been his seven-year-old self's hero; he hadn't had much to rely on back in those days, so he'd found himself somebody to look up to... even if that person _did_ happen to be somebody he only knew from second-hand knowledge. Ratchet didn't remember much about when he'd stopped seeing Ace with stars in his eyes- though, he considered with a pained grimace, it probably had something to do with finding out about Captain Qwark- but, eventually, he'd let his idol go.

That was probably why he'd been so absolutely _furious_ with Qwark, upon discovering the Captain's alliance with Drek, and so disgusted with Ace after fighting through DreadZone... and especially when he'd said that they weren't so different...

Because, deep down, there was still a part of him that had strived to be like them.

Oh, he hoped to the Solanian Auroras that it never actually happened. He couldn't stand the thought of becoming something that he'd come to despise so thoroughly. Even after Qwark turned over a _new_ new leaf, Ratchet still had a hard time cooperating with the humanoid; nowadays, that was more due to the annoyance factor than anything else but, for quite some time, it had been out of distrust.

If memory served him correctly, both of his once-upon-a-time idols had told him that they were a lot alike... and maybe that was true, but he'd done a great deal of growing up since meeting either of them. And if worst came to worst, he had something they hadn't; Otto Destruct hadn't considered the fact in his quest for power and, quite frankly, not many people would have: he had Clank to steer him in the right direction when he got mixed up, offer advice when the only alternative was a conversation with Qwark, and to glare at him when he started slacking off in his duties. Ratchet was confident that, if he ever _did_ start to follow Qwark or Ace's example, the robot would be quick to remind him what all he'd worked toward. It was definitely a load off of his mind.

Ratchet set the action figure down, placing it in the box of things to keep. Yes, it was the memory of a fallen hero, but it had also been a part of his life; he wasn't going to throw it away. The only thing for it was to put it aside and move ahead, toward the future.

* * *

><p><strong>Laugh<strong>

By nature, Clank wasn't an overly emotional individual; he'd managed to get through many an awkward situation without batting an optic. That wasn't to say that he never let his feelings show... but it took a lot, like nearly being abandoned after destroying the Deplanetizer or saying goodbye to Ratchet.

This situation, while not as serious as others, was enough to break his composure.

The little 'bot ducked his head and shut his optics, doing his best to keep from giggling. He failed. Miserably.

"Something funny, pal?"

In a doomed attempt to stifle himself, Clank pressed his hands against his mouth, but the question sent him into another round of laughter. Without looking up, he shook his head. He heard his companion walk away, but still didn't dare to look up. After a moment of relative silence, he cautiously opened one optic and peered across the garage. It was empty.

From somewhere in the domestic part of the garage-slash-house, there was a bark of laughter and approaching footsteps heralded the lombax's return.

"Okay, you're right. It's pretty funny." Ratchet conceded, tail twitching.

"Truthfully, you were asking for it." Clank commented matter-of-factly, back in complete control of himself, "Modifying a transmorpher like that..."

The mechanic waved the censure off, "Yeah, yeah. I got it." He paused for a moment, looking contemplative, "Hey, whadda you say we send the, uh,_ new and improved_ Chickaboom to Qwark?"

For two thirds of a second Clank looked like he was going to object, but his processing unit caught up quickly enough. And once it had dawned on the little robot, it didn't take long for Ratchet to join him in helpless laughter.

* * *

><p><strong>Cube<strong>

"An edgeless safety... _what_? That's not a cube! This game is insane..."

"Perhaps. I am beginning to like the AI, however."

"...I'm not gonna find you threatening anyone with neurotoxin, am I pal?"


	3. Chapter 3

I just happened to discover that the Ratchet and Clank HD collection was released a few days ago. That's more exciting than I can accurately convey though text, and then there's still _Full Frontal Assault_ to look forward to, too. It's going to be a good rest-of-the year.

The only notes I have on the latest set of prompts is that one or two are a little angstier than I intended for them to be, so this round isn't quite as silly as usual. Still fluffy, though. The writing seems a little off to me, too, but I can't figure out what's changed. I'd appreciate a nudge in the right direction if anybody sees what the problem is.

(Nexus, by the way, is not random at all. I was browsing through Insomniac's concept art blog (celebrating the 10th anniversary of the original _Ratchet and Clank_) and the abandoned game concept got me thinking.)

Spoilers: In addition to the last two chapters' warnings, there are several references to the comic series.

* * *

><p><strong>Snow<strong>

It had never snowed on Veldin.

Well, it had never snowed on Veldin prior to Zogg- ahem- _reconsidering_ its place in the universe. It was a desert planet, hot in the day and freezing during the night, so this was hardly a surprise. In fact, the first time that Ratchet had seen the stuff in person had been on planet Hoven. Back then- and on most subsequent visits to frozen planets- he'd been far too concerned with shooting things and, in turn, not getting shot to really appreciate the new experience.

Watching the snow itself was peaceful, he would give it that- provided, of course, that it wasn't an all-out blizzard- but, ever since Veldin's first and last snowfall, there was one thing about it that made the lombax twitch. The silence.

Snow blanketed everything, limiting visibility, obscuring obstacles and dampening sound. Ratchet could deal with the first two- he was prepared (and paranoid) enough to handle a lack of sight, to use Clank's fondly exasperated words- but the third was almost a deal breaker.

Maybe it was just because he was used to hearing even the tiniest noises in the distance- if there was one thing his big old ears were good for, that was it- but the quiet unnerved Ratchet. It was unnatural. Oppressive. Dead.

Even the desert had more life.

And there was the crux of the problem: life. Or the apparent lack thereof.

He remembered a long and excruciating trek across his frozen home. He remembered double-checking the harness on his back time and time again, putting that justifiable paranoia to use. He remembered how quiet it had been and how lonely he'd felt.

When he started shivering, it had nothing to do with the snow.

* * *

><p><strong>Voter<strong>

As far as pilots went, Aphelion felt she was fairly lucky. Ratchet had a good deal of experience with starships of all sorts and, while his driving left some to be desired- what with his "Theoretical pilot's license"- she was perfectly capable of covering for him in the middle of a firefight or keeping him from making a rough landing. Even when the lombax's experience as a mechanic failed him, Clank was always able and willing to lend a word of advice from a fellow AI, clearing up almost any issue that cropped up.

For everything that she didn't have to worry about anymore, though, Aphelion had one major complaint.

"I hardly appreciate this, Ratchet. Think of my poor paint job!"

Ratchet regarded her, contemplative, before smiling slyly and shrugging, "It's already on, Aph- unless you want to risk me scratching your 'poor paint job' it'll have to stay."

She huffed, slamming her hull window down as he casually strolled away, leaving her to stew in silence.

That bumper sticker was going to be there for _ages_.

Fortunately for Ratchet, _"ages"_ was about how long it took for Aphelion to find out that the sticker read: "Don't blame me, I voted Tachyon: Polaris '0042"

* * *

><p><strong>Consistency<strong>

Some robots were created with one directive, one task in life, and not a shred of sentience. Others were programmed with enough intelligence to complete their jobs satisfactorily until a distant goal was reached. Others still were as aware of themselves as any organic- even _more_ aware, when it came to the holovision addicts- and moved from job to job, trying to maintain a lifestyle. The idea that robotic life forms strove to achieve and uphold a status quo was a stereotype... but, by and large, it was an accurate one. It was hard to fight against something that one is innately programmed to seek.

In this sense, Clank was very much like his robotic kin. It was easy to tell the difference between "normal" and "new" but, unlike the lives other robots led, in his world, the two concepts were deeply connected.

Over the course of his first active week, he'd been through deserts, across tundras, and over ruined cities, giving him a warped idea of normality. With so much information coming so quickly, it had been more than a little difficult to process everything, but he'd done the best he could and, nowadays, was eager to learn more.

There were times of rest and exploration alike, and the common factor was obvious enough...

"Ratchet, the helipods have not worked the past four times you used them. I do not believe that will change in the immediate future."

"Can it, Clank. _I'm_ the one up to his waist in mud, _I'll_ figure a way out of this."

"Yes, so you have insisted..." The little robot said, more to himself than his friend. It was only a matter of time until Ratchet sunk just a little bit lower, though, getting the both of them muddy. Perhaps _then_ he'd be willing to listen to reason and use the swingshot.

As he stared down at the marshy terrain listlessly, Clank heard Ratchet muttering something under his breath, "Just _one_ week- that's _all _I'm asking for. One week without crashing freighters, collapsing buildings, corny plots for galactic domination or _mud_."

But wasn't that the beauty of it? All of that- barring the last- was perfectly normal for them, and Clank was perfectly content to live in a (metaphorical) world where something as mundane as _mud_ was the key to mixing it up. From where he was, fastened to a sinking lombax in the middle of a swamp, he was grateful for the old, the new, and even the mud.

Now if only he could mention the swingshot...

* * *

><p><strong>Vision<strong>

"Allow me to summarize what you have just told me. We have encountered several hundred entities which should not, technically, exist- among them, the Zoni, which I could see and you could not- and you refuse to consider that you are, in all likelihood, _not_ hallucinating. Is that correct?"

"Clank, you wouldn't _believe_ some of the stuff I just saw."

"What I do not believe is _you_."

"There's a coincidence- I can't really believe me, either."

* * *

><p><strong>Nexus<strong>

It was depressingly common to see a wedge driven between robotic and organic inhabitants of the same world. So, while it wasn't anything new, being stuck between two factions at war with one another, the current situation was a first in another way: no matter how they tried to rationalize their preferred argument and actually work it out between themselves, Ratchet and Clank just couldn't see eye-to-eye on the matter.

Sure, they'd had different ideas or approaches to problems in the past- most notably the whole "Lombax Secret" disaster- but, while they'd been at odds before, they'd still been able to make headway in any given endeavor. Now, it seemed, they were at an impasse- or would be soon, at any rate. Ratchet refused to back down in his stance, insisting that the robots were in the right, while Clank sided with the organics. Whether or not they managed to come to a consensus, they would have to act soon in order to prevent a civil war.

So, while there was still time to think, they tried to come up with a course of action- never halting in the quiet cajoling between them. Splitting up- as they had in the past- never even occurred to them.

* * *

><p><strong>Existence<strong>

"Uh, well, let's see: standing right here, talking to you, about to blast you into the next dimension... no, I'm pretty sure I _do_ exist." Ratchet quipped, idly waving the omniwrench as he spoke.

The being about a dozen cubits away from him- unidentifiable under his armor- laughed deridingly, "Yes, and therein lies the problem; your sole purpose has been fulfilled and now you're a loose end. You exist when you shouldn't."

Ratchet raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the latest nuisance- one of what they'd dubbed the 'Temporal Bounty Hunters'- and shook his head, half-turning to look at Clank.

They'd been completely honest with each other concerning what had happened at the Great Clock, though it rarely came up in conversation. So, admittedly, they knew that this guy _did_ have a point; if the little 'bot hadn't interfered- and, technically speaking, he shouldn't have- Ratchet would be dead, plain and simple.

It was actually pretty easy to see where the bounty hunter's idea was coming from.

And Clank was having none of it.

"You are an enforcer, are you not? Forgive me for saying so, but I believe that, as the Great Clock's former caretaker- the 'Keeper of Time' if you will- I may outrank you. I am fully aware of what has transpired, as I was the one who saw fit to breach protocol in order to correct the immediate past." His optics narrowed at the 'Bounty Hunter', and he stalked several steps forward. The other instinctively retreated several steps, looking rather ridiculous, "Perhaps, as far as regulations go, I was in the wrong, but I _will not_ be led to believe that the choice I made was the incorrect one. Now, unless you are partial to idea of being 'blasted into the next dimension' I suggest you leave."

Just as suddenly as he'd appeared, the stranger vanished- posture belying his expressionless faceplate and practically screaming that he was scared.

There were exactly three seconds of silence.

"Clank?"

"What is it, Ratchet?"

"You rock."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

* * *

><p><strong>Sync<strong>

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Speaking as your friend of ten years, I can guarantee you that I am not."

* * *

><p><strong>(Terms of) Endearment<strong>

The term originally cropped up during their first adventure- not as a complement, but a snarky half-threat from a seriously ticked off lombax:

_"It's a good thing I need this to get to that jet, or you'd be outta luck, pal."_

Ratchet seemed to go out of his way to avoid talking about that part of their first journey, rolling his eyes and shaking his head whenever any post-Qwark topics came up, clearly embarrassed. Clank didn't mind talking about it, though; while the behavior displayed- on both their parts- was less than stellar, he reasoned that it was all a part of maturing.

And they _had_ matured, learning from their own mistakes and from one another. If that particular comment hadn't stuck out in his memorybanks for whatever reason, Clank wouldn't have believed that Ratchet's favorite epithet had ever been anything other than what it was now: a term of endearment.

Even at that, it was difficult to accept that 'pal' had once been less complimentary than the term 'tincan', which was usually derogatory when referring to robots. But, as the context it had been used in was one of his happiest early memories, the robot in question couldn't find it in himself to be angry over it.

In fact, he giggled as he considered his own preferred terminology; Ratchet was decidedly less happy with the infrequent usage of 'furball'.

* * *

><p><strong>Decommissioned<strong>

He knew something was wrong when Ratchet refused to look him in the eyes. Aphelion declined comment, and the silence as they rode back to Veldin was outright ominous. It reminded Clank a little bit of their fight over what to do with the dimensionator as they had neared Zordoom, though he was fairly certain that they hadn't run across any wormhole devices or inter-galactic threats within the past week. Well, they hadn't _run across_ any threats. He was going to ignore the 'new and improved' gravometric warp drive in this case.

Maybe he had missed something. After spending the majority of the day at Al's Roboshack, it stood to reason that he'd been absent while Ratchet had discovered whatever was bothering him. Somewhat tactfully, he waited until they were home to inquire further.

When Clank finally _did _ask about the behavior, the mechanic's ears drooped and he rubbed at the back of his neck with one ungloved hand, "I don't know what to tell you, pal. I guess we should have seen it coming- the plant's been inactive for years- but..."

Ratchet shook his head and, impulsively, scooped his friend up in a hug.

"It's about your mom..."

* * *

><p><strong>Popularity<strong>

One year, mid-way through Qwark's presidency, a poll went viral, spreading all the way through Polaris, into Solana, and even making its way to Bogon. When the poll made its rounds and the results finally came in, only one person was surprised to hear that Captain Qwark had been bumped down to second 'Best Hero'.

That person was not Qwark.

"Oh, you mean that stupid poll everyone was talking about? Yeah, great, let's just steer clear of our fair president for the next month or so, huh? I don't wanna get caught up in that cloud of self-delusion."

"You have not bothered to look at the reports, have you?"

"Nope. Why?"

There was a short silence as Ratchet reluctantly studied the holoscreen, and Clank tried to fight down an expectant smile.

"What the _heck_?"


	4. Chapter 4

The stupid thing about this latest round is that, when I originally wrote the prompts, I was really, _really_ happy with the results- but after couple of days passed, I looked at them again and just sorta went, "Uh okay. That was... something". I seriously considered just scrapping the lot and starting from scratch, but still liked the ideas and doubted that I could express them any more effectively. I waited a little while to come to a conclusion, remained indecisive, and puttered around unproductively for a day or so.

So today I figured that I'd just post what I've got and trust you guys to tell me if I screwed up. I'm horribly afraid of making mistakes, but I need get over it, so be honest here, okay? As a disclaimer, here's the AN I wrote right after completing this chapter:

_"In order to make up for the lack of silliness last time, I went out of my way to pick a couple of the zaniest, classic-fandom prompts I could ("Swap" and "catalyst") and topped it off with a common crossover ("Parallel". Don't worry, you can get the gist of it without knowing much of anything about Jak and Daxter). _

_Basically, I was just having fun. Hope you guys do, too!_

_No new warnings this chapter, as far as spoilers are concerned. There isn't that much more that can be spoiled. I suppose I should say that one prompt is AU, one's a crossover (though they're labeled as such), and they're all a little nonsensical in their own ways. _

_(Spot the nod to Turtles Forever, win an e-high-five!)"_

* * *

><p><strong>Swap<strong>

Ratchet just _would not_ stop laughing. Every time he quieted himself long enough to say something, he just wound up cracking up again. In any other scenario, Clank would have wondered whether it was being caused by some sort of airborne chemical, similar in composition to Lombax Snooze Mist, but even _that_ wouldn't explain _this_ behavior.

The mechanic peered up at him through narrowed green optics, trying to stifle his continued snickering, and made a valiant attempt to speak up. Clank sighed and seated himself on the ground, waiting. The lombax's tail swished, gently colliding with him, and he had to fight down a wave of hysterics, himself.

When he trusted himself to speak and Ratchet seemed to have calmed considerably, he reached over to his friend, "I do not suppose you are through?"

Ratchet choked back another laugh and nodded tersely. Another twitch of the tail.

"Then perhaps you can tell me how to stop that." The impromptu-lombax said, staring helplessly at the appendage, unable to understand its erratic movement. He'd always thought that it was a conscious choice on Ratchet's part...

Ratchet offered him a sympathetic smile, effectively sobered, and placed a hand on his arm, just above where the glove ended, "You're just gonna have to ignore it, pal; it'll stop when you calm down."

"Ah, yes. Is this advice coming from a true expert on that subject?"

The other gave him a dry look, and Clank had to wonder whether that was the same expression he treated Ratchet to on a semi-regular basis. If so, he had just realized why it was as effective as it was.

Sheepishly, he glanced away and rose up, "Er, I believe we should be attempting to make our way back to Nefarious's headquarters."

Ratchet scoffed, kicking at the ground listlessly, "Oh yeah, that's gonna be a fun trip. You get to figure out how use the hoverboots and _not_ to get a mouthful of dirt- after biting the dust a dozen times, if my experience is anything to go by- and I'll try to avoid corrupting any of your systems."

Frowning at the response, Clank seized his- _literally_ his, though, for the sake of clarity, it would be better to say Ratchet's- arm and swung his companion up to the harness on his back, something that he'd experienced a countless number of times. This time, their heads cracked together, making the former robot see stars and inspiring Ratchet to curse quietly.

"Off to a great start, here."

"Oh, hush."

Stooping to retrieve the nearly-forgotten omniwrench, Clank got about five paces before Ratchet spoke up again, "Uh, Clank? Qwark was with us before we got blasted out of Nefarious's HQ, right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because we _really _got lucky." Amusement clear in his tone, he added, "I dunno if Qwark and Nefarious were affected the same way we were, but can you _imagine_?"

For the first time since their crash-landing in the forested area, it wasn't Clank's distinctive giggling that rang out, but Ratchet's laughter.

* * *

><p><strong>Mature<strong>

"For all your complaining about being considered an adolescent, your behavior does not suggest you are anything else."

Doing absolutely nothing to dispel this notion, Ratchet stuck his tongue out and flicked at Clank's antennae.

* * *

><p><strong>Cope<strong>

"What…is that?"

The mechanic glanced down at the plush toy in his arms and felt his face heat up. "It's… uh…" He ventured, debating how exactly to answer— he was, with good reason, extremely reluctant to admit that it had been one of Qwark's less tactless attempts to drag him out of his depression after Tachyon's defeat. "It's… a gag gift. From Qwark."

"From Captain Qwark." Clank repeated doubtfully, "And I am to believe that you kept it?"

Ratchet toyed with the little bowtie on the imaginary agent, tail twitching slightly, "Well, yeah… Qwark's a moron, but he's not _completely_ clueless."

"I was under the impression that you disliked _Secret Agent Clank_."

"Can't say much for the show—not with the _direction_ it gets" This earned a noncommittal shrug from the mech, but it was easy to tell that he found the sentiment entertaining, "but, ah, Agent Clank's a pretty good guy. Helped me out when it counted, anyway…"

For a second, the part-time agent in question contemplated this, before deciding to play along "And you trust him to chase away your nightmares?"

There was another silence, and Ratchet finally nodded, "Yeah. I actually do."

* * *

><p><strong>Catalyst (AU)<strong>

"So, all you need is a ride off-planet? To find Captain Qwark?" The lombax shot a furtive glance toward his door, as though afraid he would be overheard, "Yeah, I think I can do that. There's just one problem- my ship kinda... doesn't work."

The robot standing next to him- on his level only because he was sitting on the floor- stared at him blankly, like he didn't even consider it a problem.

Jumping to his feet, the young mechanic folded his arms over his chest, "C'mon, let's go take a look at it. I could use a second opinion. Every time I ask my dad he just starts stalling, saying stuff like 'It'll get done when it gets done' and 'Be patient, Yeung, it'll be worth it- there's nothing like taking your first ship up on her maiden voyage', and my favorite, 'I don't see the problem. Let me go ask Al, he's better at these things.'"

He huffed, taking his acquaintance by the hand and half-leading-half-dragging him through the house, ears perked up, listening for any older lombaxes who might be lurking around the corner.

"Is that your name, sir? Yeung?"

The adolescent lombax froze, realizing what he'd just said, before pressing onward, "Uh, can we forget I mentioned that part? If you wanna call me something, call me Ratchet- no 'sir' required."

"Do you dislike the name 'Yeung'?" The little 'bot asked, looking genuinely curious.

"Dislike? Not really. It's just not much of a name, you know?" Ratchet shook his head and held one hand up in a silent gesture to stay put. "Hold on, I think someone's in the garage."

He peered through the doorway and frowned, rolling his eyes and taking half of a step forward before calling out, "Go home, Alister!"

"And leave you alone with Perilune and Apastron? I don't think so." Came the answering shout, "Figure out what's wrong with _your_ ship yet, bright eyes?"

Ratchet huffed and grumbled something that, even from less than a cubit away, his companion couldn't understand, before turning on his heel and stalking off in a seemingly-random direction, "We'll just have to wait it out so Alister doesn't catch us. He'd just tell dad, and then dad'd chew me out."

"If I may, this is a pressing matter. Why do you wish to keep it quiet?"

"I'll tell you later... uh, what was your name, again?" He made a face, "Did you even _tell_ me?"

"I did not. My serial number is B542-"

"I don't think that's going to work. Let's just call you... er... 'Clank' sounds good. Does it sound good to you?" Eagerly, the lombax looked to the newly-dubbed Clank for a response. What he got was a baffled shrug.

"Well, Clank, none of that matters right now. We're gonna go find Captain Qwark! Just as soon as Alister leaves the garage..."

* * *

><p><strong>Belated<strong>

"Let that be a lesson to you, Ratchet," The lombax muttered under his breath, doing a truly terrible impression of Clank, "You would be wise not to irritate the man pointing a gun at you."

He sighed, abandoning the mimicry, "Why am I just learning this _now_?"

* * *

><p><strong>Realization<strong>

It was difficult to live with someone for upwards of a decade and not learn a thing or two about them. For instance, Clank had discovered- early on- that Ratchet was incredibly adept at saying one thing and meaning something else entirely.

He _learned_ this early on, but it took him awhile to figure it out. And figure it out he had.

The little robot was still unsure whether this had been a wise move on his part or not.

"Could you hand me that hammer?" Ratchet asked, flat on his back as he worked on his latest project. Not quite a Skyburst 3000, but one took what one could get.

Without missing a beat, Clank handed him a regular-sized, non-weaponized wrench.

The mechanic didn't look at the tool he'd been handed as he went back to work, "Thanks, pal."

* * *

><p><strong>Parallel (Crossover)<strong>

"Prove it, you little space rat."

"Space rat? Oh, it's _on_."

"Perhaps we should- ah- intervene?" Clank asked, watching from a distance as Ratchet tackled the humanoid and sent the pair of them sprawling. The little robot had to question the logic in this, since- counting his ears (which was probably cheating)- the lombax only came up to the other's chest. He wasn't helpless- not by a long shot- but, when it came to contests of strength, size mattered.

Beside Clank, a petite orange-furred mammal scoffed, "And get in the middle of _that_? No thanks. 'Sides, I don't think it's gonna go anywhere- not like it's a real fight or anything."

For several seconds, Clank remained silent, watching the not-quite-brawl apathetically, "I suppose you are correct. The problem is liable to take care of itself."

It took awhile, but that was- more or less- what happened. It was easy to recognize when the impromptu-wrestling match was about to come to an end, since it involved Jak pinning the lombax to the ground.

Daxter whooped, egging them on, and Clank shook his head at the situation in general. No sense in singling anybody out when they were _all_ acting crazy.

Several yards away, Ratchet managed to get out from under his opponent and, after regaining his breath, got back to his feet. Without stopping to consider his actions, he offered a hand to Jak, who- surprising absolutely nobody- ignored it and got up on his own. They did, however, agree to a handshake.

Clank looked on in approval, and- to himself, more than anyone else- said, "It is impressive, the changes two small years can inspire in a person."

"Yeah." Daxter said, smile fading, "Impressive..."

* * *

><p><strong>Advisor<strong>

When he was provided with the opportunity, Clank was all too eager to interrogate the Plumber outside of the Polar Sea. It wasn't a life-or-death situation, as it had been in Apogee Station- and, either way, he couldn't blame Ratchet for not questioning the Novalian, considering he'd just saved him and Talwyn from drowning- in fact, their current situation practically _required_ them to stay put and be patient.

From where he was standing on the icy terrain, waiting for the right time to speak up, it occurred to the small robot that he was probably the only one handling this development with anything akin to grace. As though the universe itself had heard his internal monologue and deemed this worthy of confirmation, he got his answer within thirty seconds.

Above, on the transport, he heard two lowered voices: Ratchet and Nefarious. Clank certainly hoped that he wouldn't have to put a stop to any more- for lack of a better term- evil plots. Nefarious had already proven to be a spectacularly bad influence on the lombax. They'd nearly gone the entire year without any utterance of "I'm going to kill Qwark", but that had gone flying out the window several hours previously.

Oh well. There was always next year.

Next to him, the Plumber drew away from the machine wearing a contemplative expression that Clank immediately recognized. He was taking a step back to get a different perspective on his work. Back at the garage, that rarely preceded any sort of good news, and the little mech was inclined to offer a hand before the situation got any worse.

"May I be of any assistance?" He asked, taking several steps forward.

"No need- I may not look it, but I promise you, I'm a professional."

"If you are as proficient in your craft as you are in others, I do not doubt it; there have certainly been times where I questioned how far your knowledge extends. For instance, I have wondered how you came to find yourself in my memory banks, or happened to wind up with a spare part that is exceedingly difficult to come by." Belatedly realizing that he was getting ahead of himself, Clank amended, "I do not mean to distract you from your work, but we seem to have a moment."

The Plumber's eyebrows rose and he studied the robot over the rims of his glasses for several seconds, looking- of all things- amused, "Can't say it's anything special. You would be amazed where a fella can end up if he takes a wrong turn on Breegus Minor, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you what all I find in my line of work, action figures aside."

"I refuse to believe that. Had you not provided us with that washer- a three-and-three-quarters centicubit hexagonal washer, the exact component we required- it would have been impossible to repair the Dimensionator. If I had not met you in my subconscious..." He shook his head, and rephrased what he'd been about to say, "I would never have risked using the Great Clock if you had not suggested it, even indirectly as you did. Without anyone to stand up to him, the General surely would have done irreparable damage to the Clock."

Clank trailed off and glanced over at the transport, which, of course, was impossible to see over. The loud arguing from above told him everything he needed to know, though. "And I would have lost Ratchet." He looked back to the Novalian and bowed his head, "I owe you a great deal of gratitude."

The Plumber waved the thanks off, "Friend, I'm a plumber- it's my job to see these things comin' an' stop 'em before they can cause any trouble. You don't owe me anything."

"Perhaps you feel that way, but I will respectfully disagree." The robot looked back at the transport and fell silent, not exactly deep in thought, but he certainly wasn't just staring into space, either.

A few feet away, the Novalian set his wrench off to one side- easy to access, but not in the way for the time being- and adjusted his glasses before tapping the mech on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Need another boost?" He asked, offering him a hand.

Automatically- as he was used to being hoisted up and locked into the harness- Clank accepted the offer and, predictably, was raised up as far as the Plumber's height would allow. It wasn't quite enough to reach the platform, though.

"One'a you fellas mind givin' me a hand here?" The Novalian called up to the three above them.

A second later, Ratchet peered over the transport's side, on all fours to reduce the distance between them. It took him a few more seconds to realize what, exactly, was going on, but extended a hand when he figured it out, and effortlessly lifted the robot up to his level.

"So what are you doing here, anyway?" The mechanic asked as soon as his task was done, still leaning over the transport's side, "After the sewers back on Aquatos, the Apogee Station aqueduct and, uh, whatever happened back on Sargasso, this seems a little out of place. Change in management?"

"Yep. Home office sent me out here to fix a broken versafuse..."

* * *

><p><strong>Reason<strong>

The evening that the fiasco in the Great Clock was settled, Aphelion docked them at the nearest hospitable planet and more-or-less forced her self-appointed charges to go find a proper place to rest after catching Ratchet fighting to stay awake.

With any other ship, half-falling asleep at the controls was practically _asking_ to have one's pilot's license revoked, but with Aphelion, it was less life-threatening and more nag-inducing; she would take over long before steering became an issue, but also had a tendency to not let you forget it for weeks to come. (On a side note, Ratchet didn't have a pilot's license to revoke in the first place, so there wasn't much that a theoretical galactic enforcer could do about that, anyway, short of trying to make a conviction stick. Not easy when pitted against an inter-galactic hero, even if they _were_ in the wrong- as Qwark had proven time and time again.)

That was how they'd wound up in the most convenient hotel to be found- which was to say, the closet- with Ratchet sprawled out on the room's couch, occasionally twitching in his sleep, and Clank leaned up against him, internal timer set to rouse himself from sleep mode at varying intervals. It wasn't a position they would normally put themselves in, back home, but this was something of an exception.

Ratchet needed to have Clank close, to know that they were both safe and that he wasn't alone anymore, and Clank woke himself to reaffirm that Ratchet was still alright, that his heart still beat. Though he said nothing on the subject, in the back of his processor, he feared that the reprieve the Great Clock had granted could be taken away just as easily as it had been given.

Had either of them been even _slightly_ coherent, their reasoning- however it was phrased- would come down to the same thing: "I need to have him close, just to be sure. I can't lose him again."

For the immediate future, the exception would become the rule.

* * *

><p><strong>Team<strong>

Nefarious reasoned that his mistake had been getting to know his enemies.

Even conceding and repairing Spog had been crossing the line- he should have just let that blasted lombax figure it out. They would have been there for a while, but it wouldn't have given his "teammates" the idea that he was willing to go to any trouble for their sakes. Besides, the way the lombaxes of the past invented, there was no doubt that _something_ would have gone wrong, and he would have been able to gloat.

Instead, he had repaired the commander, heeding the advice of a traitor to robotkind. He had allowed himself to preen- even the slightest amount- under the praise he received for locating Ephemeris's charging dock. He had _apologized _to Qwark. Apologized! What had he been _thinking_?

Had _he_ been possessed? He couldn't think of any other reason for saving that moron from the Loki, rather than feeding him to it.

It bothered him. And not because he regretted his choice. It bothered him because he thought he might make the _same_ choice if presented with the opportunity. Like it or not, the idiot had saved him from toppling into open air, but it wasn't that he'd felt the need to return the favor- he hadn't really thought about what he was doing before batting the Loki away- and he didn't know where that left him.

They'd been _worried_ about him, too- the lot of them. While he'd been dangling over the platform's edge, Nefarious had been able to hear the half-pints shouting encouragement to both him and Qwark. Why would they do a thing like that? They'd nearly killed him on more than one occasion, and he'd certainly returned the favor, so what had changed?

It made his gears grind- literally- and may or may not have sent him into another one of his episodes.

He knew what had changed on his front. He'd learned what they were like outside of battle and not being ranted at. He'd seen, first hand, how Ratchet and Clank would cover for each other in a fight, and been surprised when they'd extended that protection to him, too. He had liked the way they baited Qwark into the Deadgrove- even though it meant that he'd had to come along or be left with that disturbing critter.

He was becoming friends with his enemies.

So he stole their ship.

The only purpose it would serve was slowing them down- because, if somebody could recover from being flung into space while strapped to an asteroid, they could figure out an alternative way to leave a planet- but it made Nefarious feel better. He'd figure out the latest adventure's implications later. For the time being, he just wanted to feel properly evil.

As much as he hated to admit it, the universe always seemed to right itself.


	5. Chapter 5

There's a little more variety this time around subject-wise. It's not _all_ tooth-rotting fluff. There aren't any more warnings to add to this chapter, either- so no spoilers for _Full Frontal Assault_. Yet.

I should probably point out ahead of time that there's a _massive_ prompt at the end of this chapter, when compared to the small-to-medium prompts; it's a little less than 2500 words on its own. I just don't seem to know when to quit.

* * *

><p><strong>Joke<strong>

In a way, Ratchet understood where Azimuth had been coming from, what with all that "The universe can have a cruel sense of humor" talk. Their situations, while unique to each of them, had more than a few similarities.

He'd certainly thought it must have been some cosmic joke, learning that, while he'd grown up an outcast on Veldin, Tachyon had been given a home on Fastoon amongst the Lombaxes. How was that right? What sense did it make? It was, in hindsight, a large part of why he'd been so standoffish in the search for the Dimensionator; he'd been hurting, and- just like he had when he was 15- instinctively tried to inflict that pain on those around him, too.

Looking back on it, he still owed Clank a huge apology for that; there was no way he had deserved the attitude he'd received. And there was no denying it- most of Ratchet's frustration had been directed at the little robot. He knew that Clank must have realized this and- even if he hadn't forgotten- had most likely forgiven the behavior, but that wasn't any excuse.

Now Ratchet understood the circumstances that had led to where he was now. It was still a sore subject, but he knew why- if not how- he'd been sent to Veldin, and he accepted that it was beyond any one being's control. The past was, shockingly enough, in the past, and _that_ was something that couldn't be changed.

He still found himself dwelling on it every now and then, but tried to steer his thoughts away from "What if" and into the solid facts. Personally, Ratchet felt that life had been on the up-and-up for the last few years.

At least one source would refer to this transition as "Learning how to take a joke."

* * *

><p><strong>Oversight<strong>

"I believe you may be too heavy for the platform to support."

"Says the sentient paper-weight I've got strapped to my back..."

* * *

><p><strong>Plural<strong>

There had been, as it turned out, more than one Dimensionator.

Ratchet had rolled his eyes, unable to find it in himself to be surprised by this revelation. Why yes, his people _were_ nuts. What of it?

Clank, on the other hand, had been troubled by the news. There were so many new variables, and such potential for another disaster to crop up. All it would take was one curious life-form to find- or repair- one of the devices; immediately, his processor retrieved an image of Ratchet when they'd first met, and he'd had a difficult time trying to keep his expression neutral. Ratchet was exactly the kind of person who would fix something like the Dimensionator without knowing what it was, or what it had the potential to do. He was also the kind of person who would fix it up knowing _full well_ what it was capable of.

That was what bothered Clank the most. What if the Lombax changed his mind and pursued one of these devices _again_? He would have no choice but to stop him for a second time, and had no idea where that would land them.

To call it disconcerting was something of an understatement.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried. When they were in the Deadgrove, trying to figure out the first (or, technically, last) of Dr. Croid's holo-diaries, Ratchet literally stumbled over an abandoned Dimensionator. His only response was to hoist himself back up off the ground, huff in annoyance and kick the dimension-hopping hat into a tangle of greenery.

For good measure, Clank grabbed the lost copy of _Body By Qwark_ that sat nearby and- with some effort- threw it after the device.

Good riddance.

* * *

><p><strong>Rejected<strong>

Safely removed from the orientation hall- and the communications unit- Orvus sighed and brought a hand to his head in exasperation. Off to the side, the Great Clock's Junior Caretaker jumped, startled by something or other, and looked around nervously.

"Do not answer that, Sigmund. Angstrom seems to be in a chatty mood and, for the life of me, I just _cannot_ understand that piratical dialect." The leader of the Zoni shook his head before setting off to attend to more pressing matters, "Necessary for the universe's well being or not, I shall always regret entrusting him with that Fulcrum Star."

* * *

><p><strong>Holiday<strong>

It was a brisk day, not long into Magnus's winter when Aphelion docked near what used to be Uzo City. In little over a year, the Tharpods had made impressive progress in scavenging and rebuilding to mixed reactions. Where some were eager to resume their lives in an urban environment, others preferred the ways they'd been living for the past few years- minus the threat that Ephemeris posed, of course. They seemed to compromise and blend the two lifestyles, and the result was actually quite impressive.

This particular day had been set aside to pay a visit to Susie, on her request, and was spent prowling around the as-of-yet unnamed city, surrounding settlements, and, once or twice, deeper into the wilderness. It was, for the most part, a pleasant time- the sticking point being an accidental run-in with Dr. Croid. Though Ratchet hadn't particularly enjoyed that part, everybody else had- to a ridiculous degree.

When the time had been right, and his companion wasn't paying attention, the Lombax leveled the playing field with Clank by encouraging Susie's new pet Klartopod to wrap itself around the robot's antennae.

All in all, a debatably productive day.

* * *

><p><strong>Distinction<strong>

"You wouldn't understand." Qwark muttered sulkily, as the one-sided conversation turned to concern his upbringing on Florana amongst the cyclophic monkeys. He'd been going on about being raised by another species and not knowing his parents again, and hadn't seemed to get the message when Ratchet pointedly asked after 'That hat- you know, the one you cried over?' several hours previously.

Clank looked between his companions worriedly, unsure how the latest claim would go over.

But, rather than being angry, Ratchet's response was surprisingly subdued, "Yeah, Qwark, tell me all about how I wouldn't get that."

Qwark, at least, had the decency to backpedal, "Er, I didn't mean _you_, you, I just... uh... oops?"

* * *

><p><strong>Delusion<strong>

"Hoolefar?" Clank asked, looking puzzled.

"Yeah, Hoolefar. Mostly aquatic, home to a Fulcrum star, got invaded by robotic pirate... uh, ghosts." Ratchet frowned and shook his head to dispel the sense of deja-vu, "That's where I got washed up on the beach. You... don't remember that?"

"No. Should I?"

Again, the mechanic shook his head, "Nah, I guess it must have been my imagination. I probably managed to swallow some sea water or something..."

* * *

><p><strong>Circumstance <strong>

Sometimes, when he's tuning everything around him out, Ratchet mistakes Cronk and Zephyr for Merc and Green.

It's silly, and he knows as much, but he can't help thinking it. There are times when he wonders whether they could have been actual friends rather than just allies, and has to assume that the answer would be 'yes', or wind up dwelling on it for hours. Circumstance never gave them that opportunity, and he knows that it's better to assume than become consumed with the 'what ifs'.

So, as he goes about finding a way to keep Cronk's head on- for good, this time- he silently wishes Merc and Green luck. If anyone deserves an honest-to-goodness retirement- one that _sticks_- he thinks it's them.

* * *

><p><strong>Radio<strong>

_"Oh, Lance, you wouldn't say that if you could see the _real_ me! I've been projecting my consciousness into my great aunt's body!"_

Ratchet groaned and slapped a hand to helmet, offhandedly shooting at an Anthropod that dared to get a little too close. It didn't do anything to help- the broadcast was being fed directly into his helmet's communication link.

_"Your great aunt, the Duchess? But Janice-"_

"Okay, Aphelion, I get it!" He shouted desperately, taking out his frustration on another one of the moon's inhabitants, "The radio is a privilege, not a right. Now _please_ stop!"

* * *

><p><strong>Limitation<strong>

Though still not happy with the (not-quite-unanimous) decision to venture into the Deadgrove, Qwark livened up considerably by the time they reached the mining camp. This was something of a pity, because, up until that point, it had not only been possible but _easy_ to forget that the Captain was anywhere in the vicinity.

They'd been traveling in roughly the same formation for the past several hours, with Ratchet and Clank leading the way, Qwark trailing several steps behind them, and Nefarious bringing up the rear. It was questionable in the sense that there was no buffer between Qwark and a party who may wish him bodily harm, but- since Ratchet and Nefarious seemed to be trading that duty off- it was hard to tell who, exactly, was a threat at any given time.

That, and the only one who _could_ serve as a buffer- and not be talked into joining the attacker- was beginning to lose patience with Qwark, as well. This was something of an accomplishment, as Clank was a very even-tempered robot, and was already painfully familiar with the humanoid's powers of annoyance.

Such was the power of Qwark. It truly boggled the mind.

Oblivious to his teammates' growing desire to throttle him, the good Captain continued on in the vein he'd been chattering about for several minutes, "See, there was this electroshock underwear on the market awhile back-"

Before he could make a snide comment, Ratchet choked over his words and tried to hide his laughter under a coughing fit. A minute passed and his breathing evened out; he gravitated toward Clank and whispered conspiratorially, "I _really_ don't want to know what he used that for."

The little robot looked at him for several seconds before nodding solemnly.

"I'm not gonna say it's weird, because it's not, but every time he starts talking about underwear, I want to bash my head against a wall."

Puzzled by this latest line of thought, Clank paused, falling a step behind the Lombax, "I do not follow."

"I'll spare you the details." Ratchet said quickly, speeding up before any questions could be raised. Personally, he felt that the conversation was headed in a dangerous direction. The _'What are 'stones'?'_ direction. He'd gotten this far without explaining that, and he wasn't about to risk it.

To be quite honest, the trek's leader had no idea where they were going; they'd gotten lost roughly an hour ago, and that wasn't about to change any time soon. The path wasn't clear in the slightest- it was a mining site, after all, and tunnels snaked out in a number of different directions- so it wasn't a surprise, but the extra wandering around was beginning to grow tiresome. In more ways than one.

Faced with a choice between several caverns, Ratchet hesitated for a second before choosing one and setting off, Arc Lasher in hand rather than his Omniwrench to provide some small amount of light. Clank was fairly certain that his friend had picked the tunnel at random, but was distracted from inquiring further by stopping Nefarious from using his own Arc Lasher to tie Qwark up.

_Honestly_.

"_Fine_, I _won't_ tell you what I made using the underwear and an old crotchitizer, then." The latter said petulantly as he fell back into traveling configuration.

"Small mercies." Clank muttered to himself at the same time that Nefarious shot back, "Oh _woe is me_. _Whatever_ will I do now?"

Ignoring the obvious signs of a team fight (and _not_ against the local wildlife) in the making, the little robot trudged onwards determinedly, trying to catch up to his partner. If he had to put up with this, then so did Ratchet. He was, however, willing to accept losing Qwark and Nefarious altogether as a reasonable substitute.

Even if he hadn't just led them into the correct tunnel, though, the pair would have found them anyway; the amount of noise Ratchet was making up ahead would make sure of it.

As he stepped deeper into the cavern, Clank blinked and reconsidered his thought process; it was petty, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It had already been a long day, and could only become longer from here on out. So, as he heard Qwark draw a deep breath, clearly preparing to launch into another story, he quickened his pace in order to put distance between them.

Qwark seemed not to notice the less-than-enthusiastic response his earlier comment had received, and ploughed right along the same lines with his next, "Say, that reminds me, did I ever tell you guys about the time I was Gadgetron's spokesman for the Personal Hygienator?"

Even though he wasn't intentionally raising his voice, the question still reverberated throughout the cave, loud enough to make the robots on either side of him wince.

From where he was leading the party a good distance ahead of them, Ratchet started laughing again, doubling over and steadying himself against the cavern's wall. The Arc Lasher, which he held limply in one hand, cast an interesting silhouette, but the motion made it a challenge to accurately judge anything that was going on.

As they drew nearer and the echoing faded, however, it became rather obvious that it wasn't the almost-polite camouflaged laugh from before, but a genuine coughing fit. Confused and concerned though Clank was, it turned to all-out alarm when he heard Qwark start coughing as well. Nefarious quirked one metallic brow, but didn't move from where he was standing with his arms folded across his chest.

The smaller robot cast him a sharp look, but didn't waste time pursuing an argument on team dynamics, "Ratchet, Qwark, what is the matter?"

Qwark's only response was to sputter something utterly incoherent between coughs. Ratchet didn't even try. He was more concerned with not falling flat on his face. The only success he found was in the fact that he wasn't face down on the ground, because he did fall- _hard_- to his knees and dropped the Arc Lasher in favor of supporting himself. Though Clank found himself torn by the desire to help _both_ of his friends, he automatically sprinted over to assist his fallen partner, trying to figure out what he could possibly do.

"Ratchet," He said firmly, trying to get the Lombax's attention. Ratchet's nearest ear twitched, and he glanced over before quickly turning away again, trying to stifle the latest hacking fit, "We must to get out of here. I will support you, but I lack the ability to help you to your feet. I _need_ for you to get up."

As soon as Clank had said it, the exact opposite happened- the arm Ratchet was using to keep himself upright gave out under his wracking coughs. Startled, Clank took half a step backwards before regaining his ground and reaching over, doing his best to get the mechanic to his feet, or, at the very least, to a sitting position.

His task was made a great deal easier when Nefarious took several long strides, seized Ratchet by the harness on his back, and roughly set him back upright. He didn't wait for Clank to find a way to support the Lombax, but it was just as well since the smaller 'bot wasn't waiting for him to release his grip, either.

Clank nodded to the villain in thanks, but didn't bother with formalities as he carefully steered himself and Ratchet back towards the mouth of the cave.

"Help Qwark." He said simply, looking at where the self-proclaimed hero had started panicking, and stumbled nearer to the exit.

Nefarious scowled, rolled his eyes, and grudgingly moved onward, outstripping his pint-sized teammates. As a matter of fact, this would have been great for the whole 'teamwork' concept... if his interpretation of 'Help Qwark' hadn't consisted of shoving the humanoid forward several feet and then dragging him the rest of the way by the antennae on his suit.

"Nefarious!" Clank called after him, in the chiding tone he usually reserved for Ratchet. He glared in the taller robot's general direction, but quickly abandoned the action- instead, glancing worriedly toward his best friend as he led them in that same direction. Ratchet's coughing didn't seem as bad as it had a moment ago, but Clank couldn't be sure whether that was a sign that he was getting better or worse.

When they reached the mouth of the cave and the Lombax finally managed a full breath, he was convinced that it had been a good sign.

Ratchet pushed away and, with all the grace of a beached Drophyd, flopped back onto the ground, trying to steady his erratic breathing. He offered Clank a shaky smile before closing his eyes and resting his head against his arms. Unwilling to leave him unsupervised quite yet, Clank seated himself by the mechanic's side and observed the rest of their group.

To an outside observer, they would look pretty pathetic. Qwark had scrabbled upright, and was draped over a small boulder off to the right; he seemed better off than Ratchet did which, given the conclusion Clank had reached, wasn't surprising. Nefarious stood apart from the rest of them, looking just as unenthusiastic as ever.

For several minutes, nobody said anything.

"I'm _not_ going back in there." Qwark finally put in, raising a hand with his thumb and first finger extended, "What will the public think if they finally get their _amazing_ President back, and he can't even recite the Qwark-cadets' Creed?"

The little robot sighed, more from resignation than annoyance with the humanoid; he had already considered the possibility of lasting lung damage, and was still trying to work out how to proceed from here on out.

The taller scoffed, "It's probably just some stupid squishy allergy. Leave it to an organic to be beaten by a little _dust_."

"Such ailments are typically the result of prolonged exposure to an irritant, not a quick trip through a cavern." Clank quietly argued, "Was it not a rash of Trilliosis among Trillium miners that sparked an investigation into the ore's composition?" Unsurprisingly, nobody made any move to respond, so he went on, "Perhaps this mine was not abandoned due to the Wigwump infestation, but to the presence of toxic gas."

"Great," Ratchet wheezed, made incredibly difficult to hear between his breathing issues and the fact that he was speaking directly into the ground, "I always wanted to be the canary in a Raritanium mine."

Clank watched him for several more seconds, disapproving of the black humor- _especially_ the joke Ratchet had chosen- but remained silent. Since Qwark's breathing had already evened out, he had to assume that it was a combination of bad circumstances that was keeping the Lombax down. The 'canary' comment really seemed to hit the nail on the head, and Clank wondered it if hadn't been deliberate- smaller organics succumbed to toxins more quickly, and were affected more than larger members of the same species would be.

Ratchet had somehow managed to get things _just right_- he was small by _any_ definition of the word, had been the first into the cave and had headed deeper into it than Qwark had, where less breathable air would have reached him. That was to say nothing of all the toxins he'd exposed himself to in the past- the Virox gas from the Agorian Battleplex immediately sprung to mind, and hadn't Ratchet once said something about Cassiopeia and nerve gas? Thank the auroras they'd found the O2 mask before even _trying_ to head out into Orxon proper.

Privately, Clank promised himself that he'd make absolutely _certain_ that the mask was in the gadget interface before they went anywhere again. And he meant _anywhere._ More than half of their adventures had started off innocuously- from flying along a pre-planned route or working on a rocket sled all the way down to taking a vacation or just _sitting at home watching holovision_- so there wouldn't be any time to grab it before getting into trouble.

In the meantime, they had work to do here on Magnus.

"I _cannot_ believe that I am saying this," The robot murmured to Ratchet- who raised his head long enough to get an idea what was going on- before raising his voice and continuing, "I agree with Captain Qwark."

Ratchet snorted and rested his chin on his forearms. From where he was still laying on top of the rock, Qwark perked up, and Nefarious grumbled something uncomplimentary about 'Squishy lovers', which promptly went ignored.

"If we _must_ check the surrounding caves for a way forward, Dr. Nefarious and I will be the ones to do so; it is incredibly likely that they will contain the same gas." Clank hesitated, glancing between his organic teammates, "If it is at all possible for you to look for a path we may have missed..."

Qwark's eyes darted around their resting place as he worked out what his role would be in this scenario. More specifically, he realized that, if it came to a fight with the local wildlife, he would be teamed up with Ratchet- and would be held accountable for a great deal more than usual.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to come with us? I mean, of course_ I_ could take on a horde of Snagglebeasts, but..." He jerked his head toward the Lombax- who was staring directly at him, along with everyone else- and left the sentence hanging.

Unwilling to tolerate the behavior, Ratchet forced himself to his feet and materialized the Omniwrench from the weapons interface. It was fairly obvious that he was trying to send a message, but that message was ruined when he wavered on his feet a second later, and had to use the wrench as a crutch to stay steady, "Yeah, 'we' can handle it."

Clank nodded, and turned to address Nefarious... who was already storming back into the mine.

His partner shook his head and sighed, "Good luck not killing him, pal."

With a short glance in Qwark's direction, Clank smiled wearily and handed Ratchet his own Arc Lasher, remembering the alternative function Nefarious had found for it earlier, "I could say the same to you."


	6. Chapter 6

Today's special: Qwark!

No, seriously. There's a lot of Qwark this chapter. I'm not entirely sure how that happened.

Technically, there aren't any spoilers for _Full Frontal Assault _in this. There _is_ an allusion to the big reveal, but it's easy to miss.

(And may I just say that the mental image from the ending of 'Learning' makes me grin like an idiot? I would fangirl so hard if anything like that canonically happened- and it's such a stupid detail to get hung up over!)

* * *

><p><strong>Listen<strong>

Something was amiss aboard the Starship Phoenix II, and Clank was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Oh, forget it." He heard Ratchet say, up by the bridge, where the Lombax had been trying to do _something_ to cheer Qwark up. Most of these efforts had been questionable at best and backhanded at worst, but he was, at least, trying to help. Theoretically.

As he heard his friend approach, Clank ducked into the corridor between the weapons rooms, and watched carefully as Ratchet passed by. His tail was twitching, and he looked ready to blow something up, but neither cues were what the robot was looking for. What he _was_ watching for was- right there. The Lombax flattened his ears back and winced, stopping to scour the surrounding area for... something.

He paused in his search when he noticed Clank and, without raising his ears back up, asked, "You're not the one doing that, are you, pal?"

For the first time, Clank wondered if his task wouldn't have been made easier by asking outright. The only problem with the course of action was that it tended to backfire spectacularly if the one answering was _Ratchet_.

"Doing what?" He asked in return.

"Making that _sound_- it's driving me insane." As soon as he'd said it, though, Ratchet cautiously un-flattened one ear and frowned, "Never mind, it's gone again." He sighed and turned his palms up in a helpless gesture, "If you need me, I'll be in the engine room working on Perilune, okay? He's been complaining about something rattling around by his afterburners... I'm really beginning to wish we'd taken Aphelion out here instead."

Clank held up one hand, catching his partner before he could leave, "What was this sound like? You do not think that it could be faulty machinery, do you?"

"No, it's kind of like- sometimes organics get this ringing in their ears. Sort of a high-pitched whine, like when the Plumber surprised Qwark last week." He stopped and considered what he'd just said, "Only less hysterical."

"I see."

"Yeah, I know. I don't think I've ever seen the Plumber laugh like that."

The little robot hesitated, and- when he was certain that he'd heard correctly- said, "That was not what I was referring to."

Wholly unconcerned with the verbal detour, Ratchet shrugged and continued over to where Azimuth's old ship was docked. Clank watched him go, deciding that research was in order now that he had a lead to follow up on. He'd heard long ago that some beings were able to pick up on high frequencies, and that some were not; it seemed like a reasonable place to start.

As it turned out, it was the perfect place to start since, as he approached one of the terminals by the bridge, the little robot noticed movement on the edge of his vision. Captain Qwark. And, while Clank wasn't entirely sure what the humanoid was doing or what the device he held was, it was only a second before the answers reached him... in the form of a surprised shout from the opposite side of the ship.

"Son of a- okay, _where is that coming from?_"

* * *

><p><strong>Belonging<strong>

Clank never said anything about it, but- though they played an instrumental role in his reunion with Ratchet- he had never warmed up to the hoverboots. He was certain that they'd saved his partner's life on more than one occasion, and for that he was grateful, but it was hard to overlook the fact that the boots were just a way to make up for a lost skill. They were a substitute.

More specifically, they were a substitute for his heli-pack upgrade.

He'd had the upgrade for almost as long as he could remember, and had quickly worked out the best times to use it. Nowadays, it was second nature to catch himself and Ratchet in a glide before they could fall too far, and he hardly ever caught the Lombax off-guard anymore. It had been an early display of trust.

So, when they'd teamed back up during the second Nefarious crisis, Clank had been more than a little surprised to find that Ratchet more-or-less had things under control. At the time, that was all it had been: surprise. He had intended to return to the Great Clock back then, and had been relieved that Ratchet wasn't going to find a way to jump himself into an early grave. Now, the boots were something of an affront.

But Clank remained silent on the subject. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, because he knew that the hoverboots- archaic though they were- meant a lot to his friend. They'd been a gift from Azimuth, and had once belonged to Kaden himself. He didn't feel right in starting what could be a major conflict over something so insignificant.

Eventually, though, Ratchet realized that something was amiss- and, more to the point, that it had to do with the relatively new gadget.

So, in an effort to see things settled, the Lombax tried asking outright and he tried coaxing. He joked around and tried a more light-hearted approach. When all of the attempts failed, though, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised; Clank was level-headed enough to recognize the cajoling for what it was, and he'd _always_ had an absurd amount of patience.

Ratchet eventually gave up on pursuing the problem. But, Clank noticed, whenever they weren't working independently of one another, he stopped using the hoverboots to catch himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Correction<strong>

"We're _never_ going to get out of here!" Qwark groused, folding his arms across his chest petulantly and flopping back into the corner of the cell.

Without missing a beat, Ratchet stepped through the widely-spaced bars, turned around to face the Captain, and quirked an eyebrow.

"_I'm_ never going to get out of here!" Qwark amended dramatically.

Unconcerned, the mechanic just rolled his eyes and headed off to figure out where their aggressors had imprisoned Clank.

No harm in letting Qwark live out his little fantasy for a few minutes, right?

* * *

><p><strong>Learning<strong>

In a fit of frustration, Ratchet threw down the business-card he'd been studying. He knew what it said- at least, he knew what it said in the common Solanian language- but, for the life of him, he just couldn't read it. He spent several seconds staring listlessly at the card's reverse side before sweeping it off of the kitchen table and resting his head on his arms.

He didn't need to understand Lombaxan. What was the point? It wasn't like there were any other Lombaxes around to use it, anyway.

But there _was_ Dr. Croid- whose facsimile on the card was staring blankly at the ceiling with that unsettling expression- and Talwyn could understand it. Plus, Clank had taken it upon himself to learn during their sort-of retirement.

And there was really no ignoring the fact that _Qwark_ had been the one to read the card off in the first place. Ratchet hadn't even realized that it was written in a different language until he'd taken a look at it for himself. On one hand, he wanted to figure this out once and for all... but, on the other, he _really_ wasn't cut out for bilingualism. He was just some mechanic who lived out in the middle of nowhere.

Logic told him that if Captain Qwark could learn it, then it couldn't be that hard, but _experience_ told him that Qwark could _also_ achieve unrealistic tasks by accident.

He groaned and started tapping his claws against the table.

The quiet whir of robotics approaching went ignored in favor of his continued tapping, and Ratchet failed to look over as footfalls stopped nearby.

"I will take this to mean that you have not made much in the way of progress." Clank said, clambering up onto the nearest chair and offering the business-card back to his friend.

Ratchet glanced over and his ears drooped at the sight of the card. He didn't make any move to accept it.

The little robot nodded to himself and placed it back on the table, "That is what I thought."

"It's a _pretty_ safe bet." The Lombax finally sat upright and brandished the reference sheet he'd been using at his companion, "None of this makes any sense. For all I know, that stupid business-card of Dr. Croid's could say 'Ask me about the zombified time-travelling Tyhrranoids'."

"There are not that many characters on the card."

Though he didn't say anything, the look Ratchet gave the 'bot asked quite clearly, '_That's_ the argument you're going with?'

Feigning obliviousness, Clank changed tracks, "I also believe that you should refrain from saying such things. It is just a matter of time before we encounter those very beings."

"Just say it, pal; I suck at this." The mechanic leaned back in his chair, tucking his arms behind his head and looked resolutely at the ceiling, "It's no big deal- between the two of us, you're the only one who knows Tyhrranese and...uh, monkey, and _that's_ been fine so far. I should just let this go and work on upgrading Aphelion's warp drive."

"It is not like you to give up on something so easily."

"Easily?" Ratchet echoed, "Do you know how many times I mistranslated 'Lombax'? If I can't even recognize the name of my own _species_, what hope have I got at understanding anything else?"

At his friend's dramatics, Clank briefly raised his optics to the ceiling in exasperation before turning his attention back to the tabletop. Without thinking about it, he seized an abandoned pen and corrected a calculation at the bottom of the paper that Ratchet claimed to have been using to translate; to the mechanic's credit, 'Dr. Frumpus Croid: Astrophysicist, Paradoxologist, Lombax Whisperer' was written at the top, but there was a good chance that he'd just written it from memory. Several letters of the Lombaxan alphabet were haphazardly scribbled around, arrows led characters from one place to another, and there was an angry doodle of what looked like a squished Grungarian stomping out the 'Lombax Whisperer' part of Croid's title. The rest of the page was devoted to calculations- either for ship upgrades or weaponry.

For the first time, the little robot realized that Ratchet was approaching the problem he would any other: he was tinkering, trying to figure out what worked and what didn't through trial and error. This wasn't one of his usual projects, though; there was nothing to explode in his face and signal that he'd gotten something wrong until long after he'd made the mistake.

"If I may," Clank began, successfully catching Ratchet's wandering focus, "I believe that you are going about this the wrong way."

"And _I_ think I speak for everyone when I say 'Duh'."

The 'bot swatted his partner's nose with the pen, and reached for a blank piece of scrap paper with his free hand, "Here, Ratchet, allow me to assist you..."

* * *

><p><strong>Helping<strong>

There weren't many things Captain Copernicus L. Qwark would admit that he regretted, and there were fewer still that were legitimate concerns. If pressured, he would concede to save face in the public eye, and he'd been known to apologize to his allies without meaning a word of it.

He didn't regret playing the lead role in _My Blaster Runs Hot_- available for download now!- or losing contact with Ratchet over the course of the movie's production. He didn't regret being absent during the confrontation on Hoolifar or letting Ratchet and Talwyn have all the fun there. (Well maybe just a _little_. Oh, the stories he could have told...)

He didn't even regret the part he'd played in the whole 'Dimensionator' adventure- he was a pivotal figure!

What he _did_ regret was not realizing how bad things had the potential to go. He'd met Ratchet and Clank as a pair, not individually; of all people, he should have known how badly one's absence might affect the other, but he hadn't acted on it until it was too late. It had taken a reporter to get him to consider checking in on Ratchet in the first place.

They weren't necessarily friends-or even on the same side, half of the time- but he regretted abandoning the Lombax when he so _clearly_ needed a familiar presence.

And so he invited himself along on the first venture he could manage. He hammed it up, going on and on about how he needed a little excitement after so long in the holostudio, and got himself thoroughly involved in a conflict on a scale he didn't fully comprehend. However he could help provide stability- whether it was appreciated or not- he did.

He didn't regret it.

* * *

><p><strong>Frightening<strong> (_PlayStation All-Stars_)

"Oh yeah," Ratchet said quietly, not daring to tear his gaze away from the- actually, what _were_ these things? Fans? Critters? Lackeys? He knew it was something along those lines, but didn't care enough to find out for certain, "_That's_ not creepy at all."

"Just... do not make eye-contact with it." Came the hushed reply as Clank, in a direct contrast to his partner's actions, looked determinedly in the opposite direction. It wasn't hard, considering he was locked into the harness, back-to-back with the mechanic.

"It's Qwark, pal- at least, I _think_ it is. We can't take our eyes off the _original_ without trouble. What makes you think this one'll be any different?"

The little robot risked unlocking himself and peered over Ratchet's shoulder at the miniature version of the Captain.

"I... lack the evidence to support such a stance." He said slowly, considering the next course of action, "Might I request that we make a 'tactical retreat'?"

The Lombax nodded, still not looking away, "Watch my back?"

"Always."

And, with that settled, he waited just long enough for Clank to lock himself back into place before hoverbooting as far away as circumstance would allow.

Back in the swirling cloud of dust where it had been left behind, the little green-clad minion blinked, confused, before going about business as usual.

* * *

><p><strong>Pride<strong>

Clank was keenly aware that Ratchet was extremely skilled at embarrassing himself. Next to handling heavy artillery and making questionable repairs, it was arguably the mechanic's greatest talent. He was also well aware that, with Qwark around, Ratchet didn't even need to _try_; some form of humiliation was absolutely unavoidable under such circumstances. As a matter of fact, he happened to be trailing in the wake of the latest blow to Ratchet's pride.

The robot stared hard at the cloud cover overhead, desperately trying not to laugh; he could hear Ratchet snarling at Captain Qwark, and a painful-sounding thud suggested that all of the Lombax's struggling had paid off in a small way. There was a flurry of movement, during which Qwark's grip loosened in response to being kicked and Ratchet made a bid for freedom... but he was immediately caught and tossed back over the Captain's shoulder.

After several more minutes of this, the mechanic finally stopped and resigned himself to the indignity of being carried around like a sack of produce. For lack of anything better to do, he sighed and propped himself up on one arm, fixing his friend with a sullen look, "So, uh, what are the chances of you letting this one go?"

A half-stifled giggle was the only answer he received.

"Yeah, I was afraid of that."

* * *

><p><strong>Improbability<strong>

According to his internal clock, it had been two years since he'd last functioned properly.

It was strange to think. While Clank was well acquainted with the sensation of shutting down for a night's charge, he found it hard to believe that the same basic thing could happen over such a long period of time. Just like that, two years were gone. He hadn't learned anything new or formed memories, hadn't been on any adventures or scolded Ratchet for dreaming up an ill-advised invention.

The time had passed, but he'd just been… asleep. As far as he was concerned, he and Ratchet had been talking one second, and then the next, he was alone in an unfamiliar space facing off against Dr. Nefarious.

And then things started happening and information came so fast that it was hard to afford anything else much in the way of consideration. The Great Clock, time anomalies, ventures into the subconscious, Sigmund and the discovery of Orvus… it wasn't until after he'd sent Ratchet off on a rescue-mission through time that he realized something important.

It hadn't been a couple of hours and a matter of galactic sectors. Logically speaking, Ratchet _should not_ have been able to contact him, let alone narrow the search radius down to a single galaxy. Space was infinite; there was simply no way to be sure. Even if Nefarious had been telling the truth, and the Great Clock _was_ located in the approximate center of the universe, that was still an abstract concept for an organic.

No matter how Clank looked at it, the answer was clear: Ratchet should not have been able to find him.

But he had.

* * *

><p><strong>Break<strong>

Another day, another high-speed chase and subsequent crash.

From beneath the latest wreck's debris, Ratchet took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He could hear Clank on the other side of the crash site, extricating himself from the rubble and asking after him, but didn't reply right away. As much as he wanted to make some kind of noise, to curse and growl and lash out at something nearby, he only allowed himself to groan inwardly- any sound would tip Clank off, and the last thing he wanted right now was his overly-protective best friend getting on his case. There would be time for that later, once he'd figured out what was going on.

He recognized the feeling of a broken bone, but something felt off and he didn't know what. The Lombax leaned back, resting his head against the ground and closed his eyes, trying to shake off a wave of lightheadedness and repress the throbbing from his left arm, only to realize that he'd forgotten something important.

"_Ratchet_?" The call came more urgently this time, spurred on by the lack of response.

"'m fine." Ratchet finally said, speaking through clenched teeth, "Nothing to get all excited about."

He went through the motions of levering himself up, but gave up before really starting; he was flat on his back and would have to maneuver around a broken arm. He'd worked through a broken bone before, but, back then, he'd been running on adrenalin; this time he made a token effort to move the injured arm, but winced at the slightest twitch and left it in position, raised up above his head.

At the sound of his name being called again, the Lombax stopped what he was doing. The tone was half scolding, half... what was that? It wasn't a sentiment he heard from Clank often, and Ratchet was having an absurdly hard time placing it.

"You are not listening, are you?" The little robot leaned over him, upside-down from Ratchet's perspective, and looked him over with wide optics.

The Lombax blinked up at him and, slowly, shook his head.

Clank turned away, dialing something into his communications unit and speaking quickly, curtly. Ratchet didn't bother listening in; whoever Clank was dealing with, he didn't envy the position they'd been put in.

The robot came back half a minute later, muttering to himself, "'Nothing to get excited over,' indeed."

"I miss something?"

"You are bleeding." He answered tersely, removing the glove on Ratchet's broken arm, causing the Lombax to twitch.

Without any other warning, he pressed a hand against the wound in full, eliciting a yell that was as much surprised as it was pained. Instinctively, Ratchet jerked away from the contact, but the resistance he met only served to send a new jolt through his arm. Distantly, he was aware of himself cussing up a storm, and just barely managed to yelp, "What was_ that _for?"

"I am not a medibot; my only knowledge pertaining to compound fractures is to keep the limb elevated and stop blood flow until professionals arrive." He hesitated for a second, "I wish there was some way I could assist without causing you unnecessary discomfort, but there currently is not. I would much rather act than allow you to bleed out."

Ratchet mumbled something that the robot couldn't fully make out; he caught enough to get the gist of it, though: "This's why" and "worry".

"Did you truly believe that I would not notice?" He asked. Deep down, he was aware that it was probably blood loss talking- the slurring was something of a giveaway- but that didn't stop it from stinging right then.

"Didn't get to that part of the plan, 'lright? 'm still on the 'Son of a Qwark that hurts' phase."

Clank remained silent, readjusting his grip on the glove he'd wrapped around the wound and accidentally earning a startled yelp and a hiss as Ratchet tried to stifle any other cries. He supposed his hastily drawn-up plan would have to suffice for the both of them, then.

"It is alright." He listened for the sound of sirens and, when he failed to find what he was looking for, turned his attention back to his companion. More quietly, he said, "You will be alright."

* * *

><p><strong>Remedy<strong>

The snickering abruptly stopped, replaced with an exasperated sigh; Clank almost asked about the sudden change in demeanor, but caught the end of a half-stifled hiccup instead, effectively answering the query before it could be posed.

He also knew exactly what the odd silence that fell over the cockpit meant.

"We have been over this, have we not? Stop that at once." When the stubborn silence persisted, he added, "Perilune will not forgive you if your refusal to breathe results in a collision."

"It makes me feel better." Ratchet mumbled without inhaling, just as another hiccup shook his frame.

"Of course depriving your brain of oxygen 'makes you feel better'; you are rapidly losing the ability to differentiate between-"

With another, startlingly loud, hiccup, the Lombax caved in and abandoned the ploy, "I know it's stupid, it's just one of those local remedies."

"On Veldin. Yes, I am aware. You may note, however, that the average Veldinite is not a Lombax. The claim is not supported by your physiology."

Ratchet went quiet again- not because he was holding his breath, but because he really didn't have a way to argue with that point.

He only stayed quiet for thirty seconds, though, until he hiccupped again, and tossed his hands up into the air in annoyance.

"Ratchet, do remember what I said about Perilune. Whether you are breathing or not, he will not be happy if we crash him."


End file.
